


Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019

by Celinarose



Category: Original Work
Genre: 31 Days Writing Challenge, Gen, Halloween, October Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 10:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celinarose/pseuds/Celinarose
Summary: (Hopefully) 31 short pieces for the Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019





	1. Forest/Woods

She has always loved the woods, and they have loved her back. No tree root has ever tripped her over, nor any of the small bushes poisoned her, no creature living even in the darkest heart of the forest has ever hurt her, despite the people of the village warning her of their dangers, and themselves staying away from the edge of forests for the same reason. 

She feels at home there. In fact, it is the only place that has given her the comfort of safety. On nights when the screaming in the little shack she lives in gets loud enough for people at the bottom of the hills to hear the echoes of the unpleasant words, she runs away into the woods. She wonders if it makes her a coward. She wonders if it matters. She wishes her hut could be like the woods, sometimes. Quiet. Comforting. 

She wishes she could have a single night of peace. She must return to her little prison, soon enough. She must be in her own bed, each night, no matter how much she’d rather be curled up at the roots of her favorite oak, her head on a moss covered branch.

Until the day the screams escalate into something else. Until the day there is crimson all over the creaking wooden floors. Until the day she learns that pain is more intense than she could ever have imagined.

She does what she knows to do. She runs to the forest.

The only ones who might have missed her, when she doesn’t come back that night are missed themselves, the very next morning. The little shack is shack no longer, but an old ruin, when they all come looking for the family. 

They only find the forest, growing over and under and through the small house, until there is no house, with no humans, no screaming, no crimson, and no little scared girl.


	2. Candies

The candies have always been there on the shelf, for as long as he can remember. He isn’t meant to touch them, he knows. 

But they’re like a constant reminder. A taunt. A symbol of something, everything he can’t have. The small colourful treats that show him who he is. Who he is allowed to be.

He could always steal them, of course. But he would never. He would think about it, stare longingly, and then remember his mother’s words. He would look away, then.  
And he will go back to being nothing more, nothing less than the little servant boy, who yearns for some candies on a shelf.


	3. Lost in a Corn Field

“Onyx!” she screams one more time, with tears in her eyes.

She cannot find her beloved pet anywhere, and the sun is already setting. She needs to be home quickly, or her father will find her missing. She doesn't want to think of what will happen following that.

So she keeps searching, wading into the deep grass of the corn field of the strange-looking man who lives next door to her.

She wishes she hadn't let the pet out into the open, especially so late, but it is no use crying over spilt milk. She continues to wade through the grass that is taller than she is. It rustles in the wind, the shadows cast by the setting sun, dancing ominously all around her.

She keeps walking, the mud squelching under her feet, until she can not move anymore. The blades of grass are holding onto her arms and legs, and she is rendered immobile, at the mercy of the plants.

She screams. She screams for her parents, her neighbours, her friends, her pet. 

But at the ends of the old corn field, that seems to suddenly have grown to stretch for miles on each side, no one hears a whisper.


	4. Haunted House

“No! Not that old rickety mansion! It’s haunted,” they all would say. Mothers would carefully pull their children away from the side of the road, staying as far away as possible. Some of the younger citizens would whisper as they passed by it.

To their credit, the house certainly looked ominous enough to be haunted. The walls were all but falling apart, and the wooden door looked as if it could be broken with the lightest of touches. 

The creaky iron gate barring the front yard from the road, however, held surprisingly strong. So strong, in fact, that when a little boy had tried to open it all those years ago, he hadn’t succeeded even an inch. Nor had all his screams been heard by anyone on the then-deserted road. Instead, he had fallen on his face, his pursuer close behind.

The latter had quickly caught up with the child, and he had paid dearly for it. With everything he had, and then some.

A tale that was forgotten by those who now lived in the quaint little town.

They weren’t wrong, you see. The house was haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories of screams and pain. Not by phantoms, but by the whispers of a stolen childhood.

And just sometimes, if you listened carefully enough, on a quiet night, you could hear the old ruins sob, for all they had seen, and all that had been broken inside those walls.


	5. Frost

It’s freezing, outside.

But she sits by the hearth, warm and comfortable, staring into the flames. 

She is a dreamer, and the fireplace is the perfect place to imagine her future in worlds far away. The glowing embers lend themselves beautifully to the scenes unfurling in her mind’s eye. A soft smile creeps onto her lips as she thinks of yet another fairytale that holds for her a perfect life, a perfect home, and a perfect lover.

Outside, there is another.

Her hands are blue of the frost accumulating on them, for she has no gloves. Nor can she come in to bask in the warmth of the fire that she has laid, but she may not enjoy.

She is a dreamer too, but her dreams are smaller. Her mind cannot comprehend the luxuries, unlike the other’s. She is far too occupied with the needs of something more essential. She barely has enough to survive, let alone celebrate. She cannot dream of perfect until she has... _ something. Anything. _

There are two, separated by a glass pane that is covered in frosted fractals. And there is a world of difference.


	6. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for implied suicide.

He watches them. 

Day in and day out, he watches as the mother rides away in her gleaming car, the father gets in the jet black vehicle and sweeps away to wherever it is they go. The son stays back, whiling away his days, pretending he is doing some good to the world.

The boy looks on, quietly. When, at night they all return to celebrate their oh-so-successful days, he frowns, every time he sees them smile. He cries, with each laugh that echoes around the little house.

They don’t even turn to look at him, the little invisible shadow who sits in the corner. After all, they’re normal, aren’t they? They’re happy, normal, successful...liars.

And he is just the ghost of the boy they killed in cold blood.


	7. Curse

She is cursed with misfortune.

Everywhere she goes, something cracks, breaks, or worse, shatters completely. And so they are all scared of her.

What they don’t know is that she is as terrified of them as they are of her. Their words and whispers hurt, and sting and peel away at her until she is raw from the sobs that have built up inside her that she dare not let out. 

It is the day after the little lost girl on the streets that she fed so lovingly, giving up a substantial part of her own, already-meagre meal, - a girl who did not know to fear her like she should have - dies under the wheels of some uncaring rider, that she finally lets herself break apart. 

No matter how hard she tries, she will always be the girl who is misfortune incarnate. She will always be evil, even without meaning to. And she cannot live with that.

Later, much after the crops start flourishing and they all remark on how the river water seems to be almost magically fortunate, they notice her gone, and brush it away unceremoniously.

Somewhere, a young girl smiles. A boon to them all in her death, at least.


	8. Silence

The kingdom is peaceful. Calm, even, as those that sit on the throne tell any peering outsiders. 

There is no dissent, no chaos, no loud voices anywhere.  _ A perfect kingdom. A perfect home. _ R at least, the perfect facade of one.

Deep below the surface of the mask, there is the large dungeon. The part of the kingdom that houses over half of the citizens. Here lies the unhappiness and pain, the land above just a washed out veil over it all. Here, lie those that scream, or protest, or go against the grain of the rules of those above.

_ The kingdom is peaceful,  _ they say.

_ The kingdom is silenced, _ they mean.


	9. Creature

The big terrifying thing in the swamps keeps everyone away from it. Away from the whole forest, in fact. 

The villagers have no name for it. They just call it “The Creature”, and the vague but ominous-sounding description is more or less accurate. Very few have even seen the monster, and among them, those that have gotten a full and lit view, number at zero. So the tales grow and change by hearsay, as such things do.

And so, no one wanders into the swamp to discover the truth. No one asks how the Creature came to be, or what brought it into its cruelty. No one questions its intense hate for humans, chalking it up to the typical behaviour of a beast.

No one knows, or has the courage to find out, that the Creature was once a man, just like them all.


	10. Fog

When an unexpected fog appears in the typically warm and sunny town, they are all surprised: those that live in the town, and then some.

The fog is unusual in more ways than one. It is summer, for one, and there has never been a haze so dark, for another. It starts small, one morning. By nighttime, the town might well have had no illumination whatsoever. It is impossible for anyone to see anything in front of them, even if it is a fire, glowing bright. It is as if the fog is sucking out the light, or feeding off of it. No one, and no place is safe, not even the insides of their homes.

In their confusion, and among the screams of people bumping into each other and inadvertently or advertently hurting others, all while trying to make their own way back to relative safety, no one notices the missing. The fog is dark enough that no one notices it growing darker, even as a few people starting disappearing into the wispy tendrils of the mist. 

Next morning, the town is missing more than a few, but they cut their losses with a few tears in their eyes, because at least the fog is gone. Or so they think, not knowing that it has spilled over, in a thin layer, barely visible, all over their town, country, and world.


	11. Swamp

_ What hides in the swamp?  _ she asks her mother, one day. The woman looks shocked for a minute, but turns away from her daughter, quickly regaining her composure.

The girl never does get her answer. Everyone she asks, replies in the same way, by not responding at all. There is an aura of far surrounding the swamps, that spills over onto the entire town.

So she does what she must, ignoring the warnings about curious cats. She goes into the swamp herself.

There is chaos, tears and shrieks when she does not return that night. Or the next. The shrieks and tears quieten down into whispers and stares, aimed pointedly at her family. 

They have all but given up for dead when she returns, so it is nothing short of a shock. They embrace her and shower her with love and care. She remembers nothing of the lost time, she says, and they do not care enough to press further.

They don’t even notice the scales on her back, in all their love. 

_ What hides in the swamp? _

Well, it isn’t in the swamp anymore.

  
  



	12. Heights

He doesn’t dare look down. The cliff edge is steep and he doesn’t want to think about where the fall might lead him.

Where it led... _ her. _ His knees buckle at the thought of her. She never seemed the kind to jump. She hadn’t jumped, really. She had more fallen, arms spread out, almost as if she wasn’t concerned at all about the miles long drop.

It is ironic, he thinks, that he was the one who had had to convince her to take the trip in the first place. Now he wishes he hadn’t.

He used to love the mountains, the heights. Now, he’s terrified of what they remind him of.


	13. Hell

_ This must be Hell,  _ he thinks.

He knows he is dead, of course. There is no way he isn’t. He remembers the car crash, the fire following it… and the far-too-many drinks preceding it. He knows he is-  _ was _ \- not a good man, and hence he will not go to heaven, if such a place exists.

This, of course, is Hell. It is not what he expected. It isn’t raging fires and volcanoes. It isn’t terrifying beasts and demons. It is reliving the worst moments of his life repeatedly. 

It’s none of that. In fact, it’s nothing at all. 

A vast, empty space of nothing, stretching endlessly in each direction.

He’s in Hell, alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company.


	14. Moon

The moon is an odd shade of green, that day, all over the world. Wherever the moon rises, on that day, it seems to be coloured a deep emerald, making it somewhat harder to distinguish it from the dark sky itself.

The scientists are confused. The reporters are excited. And almost everyone else is terrified.

Of course, a few amateur astronomers take it upon themselves to try and find the cause, because all the bigger space organisations seem to be utterly and completely confused. It is one of these, a young, unknown woman, who notices something extremely interesting.

There are cracks in the emerald.

The moon is breaking apart, and it will scatter into thousands, if not millions of tiny pieces, and more than a few of those will land onto the Earth, causing a fair amount of harm to life and property.

The woman looks into the telescope again. Then, she smiles.


	15. Magic

He knows magic isn’t pretty.

He has seen it first hand. Magic comes at a price. That is the way of the world, and the world is crueler than most seem to think.

He knows all of this. He has seen, and even felt all of this. He has seen what magic took from his mother.  _ Sanity.  _ From his father.  _ Wealth.  _ From his sister.  _ Love. _ They are the reason he has never touched the alluring flame of enchantment, till now. And yet now, he is tempted to use he godforsaken powers he has been cursed with.

In front of him, lies a young man, almost the same age as him. There is a knife wound in the latter’s chest, with enough blood around it for it to be impossible for him to be alive.

The tears on the magician’s face have long since dried. He knows they will get him nowhere, and now is the time to act, not sob. And so, steeling himself for whatever the price may be, he murmurs the words that will return life to the only man he has ever loved.

It works, for the revived man gasps aloud with life, as soon as the spell ends. 

And the magician?

He is nothing but a pile of ash that the wind will soon blow away.


	16. Dreams

He dreams of a lot of things. Not all pleasant, of course. In fact, most of them are terrifying nightmares, born of what exactly, he doesn’t know. 

He dislikes the nightmares, the routinely broken sleep, the screams, the sweats… He doesn’t want it, justifiably so. So he tries everything they tell him. He tries the pills, the homemade remedies, the sheep, the good thoughts. Nothing works, of course.

They think he is being dramatic when he tells them what a terrible thing his dreams are. Until they see it for themselves.

They see the unbelievable monsters, the horrifying ‘accidents’, all matching descriptions he has spoken of. They can only dismiss the coincidence for so long.

But they are too late. Now, the nightmares are no longer just his.


	17. Vampire

She laughs at the little boy standing at her door. He is small, adorably so, and the somewhat oversized costume he is wearing, makes the whole scene even more charming. He holds out his bag again, as if reminding her, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Come on in,” she tells him, and holds the door open. He follows her, his big black cape, meant to replicate that of Count Dracula’s sweeping behind him.

She leads him inside, further away from the door, promising better and better candies as they walk along. He doesn’t realise that they are walking farther from the light, until it is too dark for him to see in front of him.

He is scared, now, with all the warnings about strangers coming back to him in an avalanche of thoughts.

“I want to go back, please,” he tries, as calmly as he can manage.

All he hears in reply is laughter, just before he feels a sharp pain on his throat.

Vampires don’t need costumes, after all.


	18. Bugs

He itches his arm. 

It doesn’t feel better, but he bites his tongue and turns over, finally hoping to get some sleep, and not having enough energy to get up and look at whatever it is that is bothering his arm.

Until his other arm itches. And then, his feet. Before long, he is scratching all over, like a madman. He writhes in the sheets, as his itching slowly edges towards pain and he feels drops of blood beginning to ooze from the place he has scratched too hard.

Then, he hears a buzzing sound. It grows louder suddenly, and he realises that it is now coming from two places. He sits up, somewhat inexplicably scared. 

And then, he switches on the torchlight of his phone, pointing it at his arm.

Hundreds and thousands of tiny flying insects, each oozing from a pore in his arm, greet him.

He screams.


	19. Murder Mystery

She held her head in her arms, utterly frustrated. She had hoped for a week, a single week in the whole year when she wouldn’t have to deal with a murder. And she had almost made it, even. 

But of course, she was now stuck here, on a Saturday of all days, working on this case. And to top it all off, everything about it was a complete mystery to the official investigators. They had no motive, no weapon, no suspect, absolutely nothing.

She and her team spent the majority of the night at the scene, trying to figure out who would want to kill the attractive, friendly, young woman with seemingly no enemies. However, when the pounding in her head became far too much to bear, she looked around at her tired coworkers and decided it was time for all of them to take a break, and called off the investigation for the night.

Throughout the evening, and even as she was wearily driving back, something kept nagging at the back of her brain; something she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Deciding it must be nerves and her own tiredness, she pushed it away from her thoughts as she drove into her garage, and headed into her home.

Judging by the pair of shoes kept haphazardly outside, her husband was already home. She called out to him as cheerily as she could manage, as she walked into the surprisingly dark room.

She nearly jumped when she heard a rustle next to her. Then, she laughed nervously. It was only her husband. But the breath was knocked out of her again as he grabbed her shoulders tightly, and she felt a sharp blade near her throat.

“What...what are you doing?” she asked confused and trying but failing to struggle free. He simply laughed and dug the knife slightly deeper towards her neck.

At that moment, something clicked in her mind, even as he drew the knife across her throat, leaving a trail of deathly pain behind.

The perfume she had smelled on the girl. That was what had felt familiar. It was the same perfume he smelled of, on days when he returned late to their bed, and she pretended to not notice his unfaithfulness…

  
  



	20. Urban Legend

“Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary,” he whispers at the mirror. They wait for a few moments, holding their breath in fear and excitement. 

Nothing happens, and the one who had spoken the supposedly cursed words, burst out laughing. “See? Nothing,” he said, turning to face his friends. They join in too, in the awkward laughter.

A few of them peek back at the mirror, which is still as dark and unremarkable looking as it had been before they had said anything. Convincing themselves that nothing is out of the ordinary, the group begins to chatter about their own folly as they walk away.

They don’t notice the one in the mirror who they are now missing, screaming and trying to break the imprisoning glass.


	21. Late Night

It is late enough that footsteps behind her on a mostly-abandoned road are enough to terrify her and make her pick up her pace. She pulls her coat closer around herself and begins to reassure herself that her house is not very far away.

She looks back, hesitantly, when the footsteps continue to follow her closely. She sees nothing, however, except a blurry black shape quickly disappearing around the corner, and even then, she isn’t sure if that is her imagination.

She keeps walking, because it is the only thing she can do, and she is so focused on the thought of getting home, that she doesn’t hear the lack of the footsteps after a while.

She reaches her destination, and opens the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she walks into her apartment. 

It isn’t until she is in her bathtub, minutes later, that she remembers she hadn’t had to unlock the door.


	22. Candle

She stares at the flame, waiting. Anticipating, somewhat excitedly (though of course, she kept it hidden, and would never reveal as much to the outside world), the arrival of someone special.

He had promised. He had, hadn’t he? The longer the time that passes, the more uncertain she becomes. Had she imagined it? Had he tacked on a clause of some uncertainty to his promise, that she may have forgotten? Was she waiting in vain, risking being late to an event that required her own presence?

She focuses on the flame, trying to push away the ugly doubtful thoughts that come to her mind. There is still some time she tells herself, watching the flame consume the wax and burn the candle. 

The candle is barely a stub, a mark of nothing, when the first tear rolls down her cheek. By the time the flame burns out, she is sobbing uncontrollably.


	23. Poison

_ The river water is poison, _ they all say.

He doesn’t understand why. He remembers the time when his mother used to get water from the river for them all. He remembers never feeling the sting of poison.

Until s _ he _ came. The woman who ruined everything for their small, harmless village. 

She too away their strongest as soldiers. She took away their youngest to ‘train’ them at her palace, but everyone knew they would grow up to be her servants or her coterie. He himself barely escaped the curse of having to be at close quarters with her as grew up, being only slightly above the age she designated.

She poisoned the waters, so they may have to depend on the stream in the capital, and she could levy taxes on them for it. She poisoned their minds, for what easier way to control a kingdom?

He looked at his mother, frail, weak. They had no money, nothing he could use to buy her medicines or even water.

He looks at the old, still sharp sword hanging from the wall, and then goes and picks it up.

He was going to be a murderer soon, he decided. The murderer of the queen.


	24. Skull

She holds the skull in her hand, looking at it in awe. She has never seen one before, aside from in pictures, and it fascinates her completely.

It is, to her a representation of what could have been, and what still can be. A memento of a person, even after their death, but also a memento of the death itself, because one cannot survive without this essential part of them, however possible it may be to do so without the other bones. It is like a delicately carved sculpture, meant to protect. Instead, in her hand, the way it is now, it terrifies the faint of heart.

She stares at it for a few moments longer, thoughts racing through her head. Then, she outs it back on the rack, and vows to fill the remaining shelves.


	25. Revenge

He looks at her, sprawled on the floor in front of him, her arms clearly bent at an uncomfortable angle, and a trickle of blood running down her nose, falling to the puddle on the ground that was caused by the wound at the back of her head.

He thinks back to the events of earlier that evening.  _ The date, that he had carefully planned. _ All those months of pretend, all leading up to this. He had made sure to worm her way into her heart completely over that time. And tonight, had been the culmination of it all.  _ The invitation to his home, lined with the hints of something big coming her way. _ He knew she had been expecting a ring or something equivalent. Which is why the surprise he had had planned for her instead would be a perfect substitute to hurt her in the best way.  _ The scuffle and the way he had told her that she meant nothing to him, or anyone, and never would. _ And the aftermath. 

The satisfaction he got out of finally being able to get back at her for the way she had treated her sister, making the latter believe she was worthless enough to not exist. He had promised himself it would not go unpunished, but he waited a long time before fulfilling his vow.

After all, revenge was a dish best served cold.


	26. Transformation

They see weakness and fear in her. The way she walks, dragging her feet behind her as if they, as if all of her, were a burden. The way she talks, low enough for no one to hear, as if her words, as if her thoughts don’t matter. The way she stands, head bowed low, as if she is beneath everyone else.

They don’t know the things that make her so. They don’t see the scars on her back, memories of days when she used to feel like a whole person, beaten out of her. They don’t hear the words whirling in her head, verbal lashes from the time she was reminded her she did not have the right to think anything that wouldn’t be approved of. They don’t see the slices across her wrists, attempts from when she had been desperate to convince herself of her worthiness to exist.

So all they see, when she is taken far far away from the cause of all her fears, her pain, and her distrust, is her transformation into someone they think is new and better, while she knows that it is the unveiling of her own self.


	27. Gore

He has not killed the man, he knows. Even drunk, he knows he would never do something like that.

He never should have gone to the stupid party in the first place, he tells himself. He hissed angrily at his own folly. Then, he turns back to the body in his living room and tries to piece together the events of the night before.

He remembers the smell of alcohol and lots of it. He vaguely starts to remember the pills being passed around. He'd taken one, he knows. It's hadn't felt good enough to justify another. That is where his memory of the night ends…

No. No, it is not. He remembers that the party went on till dawn. He remembers the screams and fervent noises at the first rays of light. He remembers the sight in front of him- _ oh god. The sight. _

There they all were friends, acquaintances, strangers, everyone who had decided on the temporary high of the pills, slouching over the unfortunate bodies of the remaining party-goers. There were organs scattered everywhere, anything that the newly turned monsters did not find to their taste in their prey.

He looked at the man in front of him, who was now starting to stir. The gnawing feeling was starting to come back to his stomach too, just in time. 

No, he hasn't killed the man. But he is certainly about to.


	28. Heroine

They called her the heroine of their city, some even going so far to extend the moniker to include the whole country. She would smile gracefully each time she was praised in this way or any other, and mutter some profusely humble remarks.

Of course, she knew that the people were really all fools. She would show up at their beck and call each time a crime was committed, everything from small burglaries, to the murder of the mayor. Within hours, or sometimes days, there would be a man in the cells of the city's prison, who was very likely to be the criminal. 

Often, she did not have enough proof for them to convict the accused, but the inherent craving for justice made the people create enough evidence regardless.

And so, the perpetrator would get away each time, by turning in another for the crimes.

After all, who wouldn't believe a superhero?


	29. Un-Dead

They roam the streets of every town, every village, now. And so he must hide in his house, ward the doors, and strengthen the windows as best as he can if he wants to survive.

He still remembers the day it all started. It had been normal enough, until the news broadcast declaring an emergency has been aired. No one was to leave their home. There were zombies in the country, it said. In every country, in fact. The infection has an incubation period that is long enough that it had spread everywhere before they had even realised it existed.

They had all panicked, but he had reassured himself saying that it was very unlikely for any of the people in his own house to be affected.

Until he saw his daughter, writhing on the ground in pain like they said she would. In front of his own eyes, he saw the light go out of her, and her skin turn ashen. He saw everything that had ever meant anything to him fade away, when his wife walked down the stairs, her words no longer coherent, and her hair wobbly.

He hesitated for a bit, but instinct had eventually kicked in enough for him to be able to push them out of the house and keep him, inside it.

He can still hear their growls, though, their voices a raspy shadow of what they used to be. Each moment that he stays in this way, is like someone thrusting a dagger into his heart.

He must hide if he wants to survive. So he throws open the door.


	30. Statue

The statue at the center of the town creeps her out. Every time she passes by it, a chill runs down her spine. 

Somehow, no one else seems to have this problem. Most of them ignore the tall brass-coloured man standing in the town square. Some, even stop to stare admiringly, as if it is some kind of marvelous piece of craftsmanship, which she doesn’t understand it at all.

So she always takes the longer path, the one without the road that passes by the statue when she walks back home on dark and quiet nights. It is a foolish thought, rationally. It’s only a statue, after all. 

Except, the one night, when the roads are closed and the snow is heavy. The only thought on her mind is getting home quickly, and so she takes the route that will serve that purpose.

She doesn’t get home that night. Or any night thereafter. In the morning, they find two statues in the square. 

And no one notices anything strange.


	31. Costume/Masquerade

Colours run across the room, blurring beautifully in a haze of light and music.

_ The Masquerade Ball. _ One of the city's biggest events, he has learnt. The locals hardly celebrate Halloween in the traditional way, but this one dance is unique to them, and beautifully so.

He looks around the huge ballroom, decorations lining every inch, and a slew of dancers taking the floor, all dressed in masked costumes. Some match with their partners, and he can see the proximity, as they pull each other closer. Others are dancing with strangers or acquaintances, their stance slightly more awkward, and their clothing mismatched with respect to each other, but intriguing nonetheless.

He looks down at himself. He is dressed as a Reaper. The black cloak is a simple one, for the most part. The mask is an intricate affair, however, replicating a careful balance between the skin of a dead man and a skeleton. Reapers skirt the lines between the dead and the living, after all.

He is very glad he came to the town. Towns with children running around on Halloween night are messy and annoying. Now  _ this _ , he can get behind. 

  
A whole town's worth of souls, in one place and all wrapped up with a bow, for him.


End file.
